


The Dragon and the Saint

by nothing_is_beautiful_and_true



Series: For Want of a Grail [3]
Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: But mostly porn, F/M, Kind of a character study, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 05:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13404282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothing_is_beautiful_and_true/pseuds/nothing_is_beautiful_and_true
Summary: Gilgamesh and Arturia have sex in the shower.





	The Dragon and the Saint

**Author's Note:**

> I've been struggling with writer's block. So here's this, I guess.

_“It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.”_

Arturia stood in the bathroom. Heat stifled her and humidity choked her. The mirror clouded over with steam. She couldn't see her reflection.

Water struck ceramic, over and over again. Arturia heard Gilgamesh in the shower, heard his skin shift and his bones creak. The sound carried a false note, not quite right, not quite real; spirit made flesh by magic. A rustle, and the shower curtain parted.

Gilgamesh leaned against the curtain rod and watched her. He stood there, naked and unashamed.

Arturia steeled her gaze and kept her composure. Gilgamesh smirked. In his eyes she saw dead knights and soldiers, their blood painted across the tapestry of her own legend.

"Well, well, well," he said. "It appears you have me at a disadvantage."

Arturia merely stared, defiant until the bitter end.

"Nothing?" Gilgamesh asked. "You dare ogle at perfection, and yet offer nothing in return?"

Much was wrong with his statement, and yet, in a way, he was right. Arturia shouldn't be there. A droplet of water dripped from his nose onto his chest. She followed its path, observed it trickle down Gilgamesh's sternum, and then returned her attention to his face.

"I don't ogle. And you know why I'm here."

"Prove me right."

"... I shot the white hart," Arturia said. His expression remained blank. "It was the final hunt, before everything fell apart. It just stood there and I shot it with an arrow. Right in the heart. I don't know why I did it."

She pictured it clear as the day it happened.

Sunlight streamed through dense foliage. The hart, etched white amongst shades of green and brown and black. Forever elusive, forever unattainable. She notched an arrow and drew back. It looked at her when she fired. It had brown eyes.

Arturia always assumed they were red.

A twang. Her hand reached in vain for an arrow already gone. It never looked away, even as its legs folded and the light left its brown eyes and its lifeblood stained its own pristine coat red. Regret enveloped her, and Arturia knew in that moment she sealed her own doom.

"Because you could," he said.

"I wish I hadn't. I wasn't supposed to. Chivalry is dead, and I killed it."

"You want to become clean. I understand."

She moved.

First Arturia untied her hair, and then her clothes fell away. His gaze traveled along the length of her body. His expression turned ravenous. But Arturia was a wolf in sheep's wool. She felt no fear. Excitement thrilled her; her pulse pounded in her ears.

Arturia strode toward him. Gilgamesh reached for her. And then their mouths sought each other out and everything else disappeared, replaced by slanting water and roaming hands and dancing tongues. He was rock hard, solid, and Arturia gripped him, afraid that she would drown otherwise, swept away in the flood of her own sins. The universe narrowed until it focused solely upon a naked man in a shower.

She hooked a leg around his waist and the other followed, scrabbling for purchase along his sleek, wet body. The head of his cock nudged into her folds, already slick with water and Arturia’s own arousal, and they both moaned. He took the skin of her neck between his teeth and tattooed her name with his mouth. Arturia whined and shifted, sinking deeper into Gilgamesh.

He pulled out and pushed Arturia back. She stared, affronted, but also a little vulnerable. Gilgamesh just grabbed the shampoo. Arturia frowned. He smirked.

"Clean," he murmured, and poured out the thick, viscous liquid. Arturia watched him rub his hands together. Then Gilgamesh ran his fingers through her hair.

He massaged the back of her skull, touch gentle but thorough. Unexpected. Somehow, Gilgamesh continued surprising her. Moments of humanity broke through a persona forged and defined by others throughout the long centuries. Arturia noticed it, before, when he vanished without taking his own pleasure, and again when he submitted to her after the encounter with Illyasviel, but not until now did she understand it.

Suds dribbled down her face. Arturia closed her eyes and leaned into Gilgamesh, enjoying the sensation of being groomed. She relaxed, warm water and tender ministrations loosening her tightly coiled body. Her hands explored his broad chest, skin taut over defined muscles and sharp ribs. She traced a nipple, small fingers moving in tender circles, and he stiffened.

"Fuck. Yes. There," Gilgamesh said.

He still worked the shampoo out of her hair, steady and methodical. Arturia fumbled for the soap, found it, and rubbed him down. Gilgamesh’s skin felt like silk, beautiful and unblemished, the muscle beneath unyielding. Whether a result of magic or meticulous maintenance, she didn't know. Didn't care.

The water washed away the soap, and Arturia tongued his collarbone, wanting to taste more of him. Gilgamesh was pure sin, forbidden fruit, and by taking a bite she knew the consequence to be death. More. Arturia dipped her head, drew a nipple into her mouth and sucked. Her hands skittered lower, brushing his erect cock.

Gilgamesh swore and jerked her head back, kissing Arturia hard. His desire rubbed against her inner thigh. Arturia pressed closer. Closer, closer, closer. She longed to devour him.

Arturia nibbled his lower lip. Gilgamesh growled, the noise sending shivers down her spine, and palmed Arturia’s breast with fervent urgency. His other hand found her hot center and stroked it. Her back arched.

"Stop teasing," Arturia panted. He shoved her up against the wall in response. It felt cool compared to her feverish skin.

Gilgamesh anchored his arms under her thighs. She gasped when he slid inside her. His flesh muffled the sound; her grip went boneless as he invaded her, joining them together at the waist. Gilgamesh supported her entire weight. He felt thick and heavy and foreign.

In a brief moment of bizarre, tangential clarity, Arturia wondered if Guinevere experienced a similar sensation on the night of their wedding. Arturia had not been gentle, ashamed and eager to end the farce.

Then Gilgamesh whispered in her ear, breath hot and words provocative. Her thoughts scattered. She reared above him, arms braced against his shoulders, fingers tugging at his hair hard enough to hurt, and angled her mouth down into his, all tongue and teeth. He smirked.

Arturia clenched, muscles she'd never used before contracting and tightening around his cock. Gilgamesh uttered an odd, ragged sound and his hips shifted. The friction sent a hot jolt up to the tips of her ears, and if she hadn't been flushed bright red before, she was now. He slid out and and then back in, painstakingly slow.

"Faster," she commanded.

He complied, and she rewarded him by sinking her teeth into his flesh, stifling the sounds he pulled from her.

They set a rhythm, haltingly at first, and then measured. Gilgamesh rocked in and out, again and again, the assured strokes of his cock building a slow cresting wave within her. She copied his movement, undulating against him, and he groaned, encouraging Arturia in a low, husky undertone, even while he lost control. The pace turned frenetic as they both neared their limit, rough and fast and desperate.

Pleasure shattered her; she fractured into a thousand pieces. Nails became shards of glass, bloodying him, but it was fine because the water washed it away, same as the soap, washed everything away, and in its wake they could be clean, if only for a little while.

…

This is the story of Saint George and the Dragon.

There lay Silene in the province of Libya.

Beside the city was a pond. Within the pond dwelled a dragon. People fed the dragon two sheep a day.

When there were no more sheep, they fed the dragon their children. The people of Silene drew lots to decide who would die.

One day the lot fell upon the king’s daughter. He offered all his riches for her absolution, but the others refused. Saint George then appeared. He set off to save the princess.

When the dragon approached, Saint George upon his horse drew forth his sword and smote it. He threw the dragon to the ground. After he said to the maid: "Deliver to me your girdle, and bind it about the neck of the dragon and be not afeard."

When she had done this the dragon followed her, as if meek and debonair.

He promised to kill the dragon if the people of Silene baptized and knew God. They erected a church and its water healed the sick.

Ultimately, a dragon did not slay Saint George, but the infidels and their devil gods. They martyred him, beheaded him much like he beheaded the dragon.


End file.
